


We Keep the Lights From Going Out

by Marieficsit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, My First Destiel Fanfic, teen!Dean and Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marieficsit/pseuds/Marieficsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a hunter. For as long as he could remember he helped his father on jobs killing monsters, banishing ghosts, and tracking the yellow eyed demon that murdered his mother. Despite no longer being on the road all the time and being forced to attend regular school, Dean's nights and weekends are still taken up with the chase. </p><p>Castiel is the new transfer student Dean gets assigned to show around. Quiet and awkward, he is the last person Dean would normally hang out with, but something catches his attention about Cas. After a series of strange coincidences though, Dean grows wary of his new classmate. He isn't sure if perhaps Cas is something he should be hunting, or if the way his heart beats faster around him is caused by another reason entirely.</p><p> </p><p>I apologize for the awful summary, these things are really hard to write! I will be tweaking it as I continue writing/posting this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Indian summer heat was already making Dean sweat in his flannel shirt, despite the fact that he had rolled up the sleeves before leaving the house. He fought the urge to smooth down the collar to expose a bit more of his neck in the hope that a breeze would pick up but he held back. Partly because he was tired and not in the mood to be the center of attention among the near-drop-out tough kids he sat with at the cafeteria, who would doubtlessly guffaw and clap him on the back as they asked him whose hickey he was sporting this fine Monday morning.

He’d also acquired a nasty scratch that was stitched up from the bottom of his neck over his collarbone that would be harder to explain to the guys. Even if they knew who he was and what he did he’d try to hide it. It was an embarrassing story. He had made a rookie mistake, fumbling while loading a silver bullet to kill a werewolf in Polk County that had killed an old farmer couple. Fighting werewolves on the full moon was dangerous enough without butterfingers. Luckily, Grandpa Campbell had caught up to them in time and was able to drag the monster away from where it had pinned Dean to a hay bale and finished it off with a silver dagger as Dean caught his breath. Suffice to say Dean’s assorted scrapes and bruises of the night were mosquito bites and paper cuts in comparison to his bruised ego. The drive back in the Impala had ranged from awkward, tense silence to his grandfather threatening to kick his ass ‘til kingdom come if Dean pulled a stunt like that again. Dean had been locked in the observation and prison room all night where his father and grandfather had injected, sprayed, and made Dean ingest every type of poultice and medicine they could think of to insure he would not turn into Lassie in a month’s time. This meant Dean was running on a half hour of sleep and a mug of Folger’s that could have been dirty dishwater for all the good in was doing him now. At least he always slept in class anyway.

“Dean! Wait up!” a voice cracked colossally as it called out to him. Sam, Dean’s kid brother had grown a good give inches of the summer and the rest of him was trying to catch up. Sam ran with a long, loping, awkward gate that made him look like he was about to fall flat on his face at any moment. It reminded Dean of a Labrador and his brother’s large, brown, earnest eyes only completed the image. Some days Dean was not sure whether to put a brotherly hand on Sam’s shoulder when talking to him or to pat him on the head and scratch him behind his ears.

“Why? Doesn’t the junior high bus come in a few minutes?” it was only after the words left his mouth that Dean remembered his brother was a freshman this year and mentally kicked himself.

Sam just rolled his eyes, “wow, Dean, are you sure that werewolf didn’t give you a concussion too?”

“Hey, shut up! I did too remember you were going to high school this year, it just took me a minute to remember. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, but Dean could feel his brother sending nervous glances his way every now and again. There were some days Dean wished he could pack up his weapons and dead man’s blood and holy water, vengeance or no, just to keep those worried looks off of Sammy’s face. Dean had long ago given up on the idea of a normal life, but Sam could do anything he wanted. Fuck, Dean believed his brother could be the president of the United States if he put his mind to it.

“Hey, Sammy, what classes are you taking this semester?” he asked in an attempt to change the mood.

Sam began rattling off a list of AP and accelerated courses. Microbiology, macroeconomics, home economics – but he wasn’t upset about that one since would be able to learn to fix clothes he ruined on hunting trips and heck, even learn to bake a pie so he could make one for Dean on his birthday and not have to run to the twenty-four hour diner.

Dean was only half listening to all this, though. Something was off. He tried to dismiss it as post-hunt jitters that he still sometimes got, especially after a close call, but he’d never hallucinated after a hunt and the air smelled distinctly of ozone even though there was not a thunderhead in sight. He patted his pocket where he kept a switchblade and a few vials of the poisons for the most common menaces his family hunted. There was not enough of any to kill with, but it made him feel better. Like a rabbit foot, except they actually had an effect.

The smell faded as Sam rambled on about the textbooks he had ordered early so he could read them for fun over the summer, but the hairs on the back of Dean’s head still stood up. It was not until they turned down the last street that took them past small shops and restaurants down to the behemoth that was Ames High that he started breathing again. The things that went bump in the night usually avoided hunting in broad daylight and crowded places. 

Students milled around on the steps and green spaces in front of the school. Friends called out to each other, waving, embracing, asking about summer vacations to visit relatives and lakeside resorts up north. Dean knew he would be able to find the guys around the side of the building, smoking and trading dirty jokes, but he continued with his brother straight towards the entrance steps. When the Winchesters had moved to Ames four years ago, Dean had fallen in with Todd, James, Asher, and Brandon because they were who Dean always thought he would have been if the supernatural were removed from the equation. They ditched school, blared the classics like Led Zeppelin and Kansas, went to parties where they got drunk and dared each other to do stupid shit. But on top of that they also just didn’t care too much. Dean could be with them and not be of them because he carried the same image as them. And God knew the one prerequisite to fitting in anywhere in high school was image.

He both resented and envied how naïve they were. They had never watched someone they loved die or ever been close to death themselves. Their biggest worries were being caught violating curfew and looking macho enough in front of their friends. But in high school you needed a group and he did not have the time to be a jock or the smarts to be a nerd, so he hung with the guys and it was just an added bonus that they did not ask questions when he would disappear for days on end. Dean’s community was with the hunters where he was respected and understood. School was a different, strange world, like he had been hexed into living a John Hughes movie. He just needed to graduate and then he could take the Impala where the foul winds of Hell blew him. The only thing that could make his dad’s stupid decision to “settle down” worth it was if it paid off for Sammy. His brother had a gift and anyone who could not see that was blind. Dean would never admit it, but he was really excited for Sammy to be in high school. That kid had brains and the promise of a future away from hunting and Dean was going to make sure that future came to fruition.

Dean pulled up short outside the building’s open doors and wheeled to look at his brother, “you know where you’re going?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so. Honors English, Ms. Halpern.”

“Halpern, huh? She’s a tough grader, I had to fight for my C in that class. I think you’ll like her. The English department is on the first floor, so walk through these doors, take a right and go all the way down. Do you want me to take you?”

“No, Dean, that’s okay. I’ll find it,” Sam glanced uneasily at the people entering the school, “all the other freshmen have to find their way around by themselves.”

“Sure, no, I got you. Just making sure you have everything.”

“I do, Dean, I promise.”

“All right, then go get ‘em, Tiger!” Dean said, clapping his brother on his shoulder and watching as Sam resettled his backpack and waded into the sea of students.

Taking his schedule out of his bag, Dean glanced down and it and let out a groan. European History. Dean zipped up his bag again, swore under his breath, and headed towards the stairwell.


	2. Chapter 2

The bell had not rung yet, but students were already trickling into the third floor classroom as Dean arrived. Probably, like him, they were aware of the inertia of class seating and wanted to get their pick of desk arrangements since they would likely spend the rest of the year in the exact same place. Dean shuffled to the side and slid into a chair next to the window. There was only one desk between him and the aisle and he sent a quick hope out to the fairies, unicorns, angels, and every other benevolent creature he didn’t believe in that his loner reputation and lack of popularity would allow him to keep that spot to himself.  
He watched with a detached sort of interest as the rest of the seats started filling up. The especially studious kids taking up the first row, the friend groups clumping in the middle, the shy ones who hated being called on sinking low in the chairs in the back rows. Humanity, it was the thing Dean fought to save and protect, but it was so far removed from him. He drummed his fingers on the desk, pleased that the spot next to him remained vacant, and fished out his journal from his bag.  
About a year ago his father had let him go on his first solo mission. It had been a standard house-haunting, with not even that violent of a ghost. The grumpy old cattle rancher had ben buried out back and the digging up, salting, and burning of the bones had gone of without a hitch. Regardless, when he had gotten home his dad had given him two things: The keys to the Impala and a blank, leather-bound journal not unlike the one that belonged to the old man himself. Dean had yet to enter something ground-breaking – the past year had not yielded anything out of the ordinary in their neck of the United States. But he kept the journal up to date anyways, always at least a couple of sentences per hunt.  
With his head hunched over the paper and an arm curled around to block the view as much as possible he began to recount his humiliating run in with the werewolf. No one ever asked him what he was writing, but Dean liked the security in the precautions. He even had a sketch of a cross-section of a car engine he could flip to and pretend to shade if he felt the gaze of unwelcome eyes. The bell rang, and Dean only paused to hand back the stack of syllabi once he had snatched one of his own. The teacher’s voice was rich and soothing as it elaborated on the particulars of the curriculum. Dean contemplated taking a nap once he finished the table of concoctions and poultices that his father and grandfather shoved down his throat or otherwise inflicted on him and their various affects when he felt the mood of the room change. The soothing voice, which Dean discovered belonged to a short, stalky man with a trim beard and salt-and-peppered hair, had stopped talking and all the students were looking towards the door.  
In the frame was a boy with a blue tardy slip in his hand. He was tall and slender with dark blue eyes and brown hair that stuck out of his head at odd angles. He seemed unsure of himself, sweeping a hand over his stubble as he stood suspended between the classroom and the hallway. After a few more moments he seemed to realize he was there to do something besides stand in a doorway and cleared his throat.  
“Hi,” he said gruffly, “my name is Castiel Novak. I’m new here.”  
“Oh, forgive me, Castiel,” the teacher responded, “I didn’t know we were expecting a transfer.”  
“It was a, uh, recent decision of my father’s,” Castiel said, handing the blue slip to the teacher, “I do apologize for not being punctual.”  
“It’s your first day here, I won’t enter this, but be sure you are on time from now on, young man. Where are you transferring from?  
“I, erm, Paradise….”  
“Ohio?”  
“Yes”, Castiel murmured, scuffing his shoes and peering at the floor before looking back up at the teacher, “that place.”  
“Well, you’re welcome to sit wherever you’d like.”  
Castiel looked out at the crowd classroom, scanning for vacancies. There were two desks left, one in the front corner of the room and the one next to Dean. Dean casually stretched his arm over the back of the empty chair, trying to make it as obvious as possible to the new student that he would do well to stay at the front. When Castiel’s eyes settle on Dean and the empty desk he started picking his way back.  
“Balls,” Dean muttered to himself, selecting his father’s friend, Bobby’s, favorite swear.  
“Hello,” Castiel said as he slid into the seat.  
Dean made a noncommittal grunt and looked up at the front of the class, pretending to pay attention.  
“Hey, Dean,” Cas whispered, peering at the name on the cover of his journal, which Dean had closed and scooted halfway under his syllabus in an attempt to hide it from his new classmate, “What’s our teacher’s name? He failed to introduce himself.”  
“Beats me.”  
“Oh,” came the odd boy’s reply, staring vacantly ahead for a moment, “that would seem like an important thing to know,” he said at last, more to himself than Dean.  
“No shit, Sherlock.”  
“Actually, my name is Castiel.”  
Dean looked over at him, raising an incredulous eyebrow. He opened his mouth to offer a clever retort, but since he had no idea if it was absentmindedness, ignorance, or something else that prompted the bizarre reply, he shut his mouth. He was quite uncharacteristically at a loss for words.


	3. Chapter 3

In the hall after class Cas asked Dean to point him in the direction of “the gymnasium.” Realizing he had P.E. next, Dean offered to walk with Cas. A quick comparison of the rest of their schedules revealed them to be identical.  
“Huh, what are the odds?” Dean mumbled when he handed the piece of paper back to his classmate.  
“it is quite miraculous,” Cas had agreed, “perhaps,” he hesitated, “we could have lunch together before woodshop.”  
Dean licked his lips before replying, “sure thing. I’ve got a table my buddies and I usually sit at. You can hang with us.”  
Despite his peculiar ways, Dean knew what it was like to show up at a school knowing no one and a pang of sympathy went through him for this Castiel Novak.   
“Come on,” Dean said as the warning bell rang, “the gym’s this way.”

The cafeteria was a zoo, as usual, but the table he regularly occupied with his group was set a bit away form the worst of the bedlam. Dean introduced Cas to Brandon and Asher, who were already eating and then headed to the lunch line himself after Castiel took a seat and pulled a smushed sandwich in a plastic Ziploc out of his bag.  
When he got back, a pile of God-knew-what on his plate, he took a seat between Cas and Asher.  
“Never seen a movie before?” Brandon was asking Castiel, who was moving his hands up and down his legs as if he did not know what to do with them, “not even one?”  
“No, I concede, it is true.”  
“Man, your father must be one mean son of a bitch to not let his son ever watch TV.”  
“I’d appreciate it if you did not speak of my father in such a disrespectful way, there is a reason behind everything he does,” Castiel replied with an intensity and sincerity in his tone that had Dean taken aback.  
“Yeah, fuck off Brandon,” Dean snapped before taking a swig from his miniature milk carton. He was quiet the rest of lunch, an uneasiness settling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t help but look around and see his table mates as Cas must see them, their swapping of crude jokes with impunity, whining about being grounded for partying, debating over which teacher was the hottest. He wasn’t like that, was he? What must Cas think of them. Dean did not know a lot about the boy, but could tell that, like Dean, he had been taught to respect his father, and he did, despite some weird rules. It was oddly refreshing, to find someone who didn’t think all their old man was good for was putting a roof over their head.  
“Hey Dean,” came an overly cheery voice form behind him, “have a good summer?”  
“Hello Danielle,” he turned to face the spray-tanned, bottle blonde cheerleader, a flicker of amusement tugging at his mouth, “not bad, how was yours?”  
“Oh, you know, we spent most of it up at the Shack. Pretty boring, really.”  
“Sounds like it,” Dean nodded, fighting a grin so hard he was sure he was grimacing. When he’d first met Danielle four years ago he hadn’t been able to stand her, she’d been stuck up, rude, and obviously hadn’t worked a day in her life. All that was still true, but now Dean couldn’t help but be a bit amused by a person with their head so far up their ass that they could get bored spending a summer at a three thousand square foot lake house, let alone think that calling it “the Shack” was clever or cute.  
“Anyhow, just wanted to let you know that I’m hosting a little back-to-school party at my place this Friday. After the game, of course. I’d love it if you could make it,” at this last bit, she placed a manicured hand lightly on his shoulder, “you wall can come to,” she added to the other boys at the table as an afterthought. With that, she flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder and sauntered off, and Dean couldn’t help but watch the hem of her dress-code-violating skirt as it swayed with her hips.  
When he finally turned back around in his seat, Brandon and Asher were staring at him, mouths gaping.  
“What’s wrong with you two?” asked Todd James, grapping the last empty seat, his glass of water swaying as he set down his lunch tray roughly.  
“Dean just got us invited to one of Danielle’s parties,” Asher answered.  
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit, she’s totally had the hots for you since she broke it off with Adam in April.”  
“No way, Man,” Dean said, “there’s no way she’s been nursing a crush on me all summer.”  
“I don’t know about that, why else would someone like her invite someone like you to one of her parties?” Todd James waggled his eyebrows.  
“Ugh, leave it alone TJ,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  
“So, are you going to go?” Brandon looked at him inquisitively.  
“Of course I’m going to go, I just need to figure out how I’m going to get past my dad and grandfather first."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever, I promise this isn't an abandoned WIP, I'm still working on it! I thought I'd have time to work on it this summer, but being home actually took up more of my free time than college weirdly. Now I'm back at school and I will be updating more often, if not more regularly. I know this chapter is super short, but I wanted to get something up for you all as an act of good will while I get my act together and write more. :)

Getting around his dad and Grandpa Campbell proved not to be a problem. Bobby had called while Dean was at school about a big uptick in demon activity around his town in Nebraska, and by the time Dean got home the two patriarchs of the house were already packing up to hunt for the weekend.  
“Take care of Sam while we’re gone,” his dad had told him while taking holy water out of a cabinet in the basement, “and no monkey business. I mean it. I need you to be the man of the house.”  
“I know, Dad, I will. Don’t worry, Sammy and me will be just fine.” Even if he had wanted to go with he knew better than to ask.

“Where are you going, Dean?” Sam asked from the bathroom door as Dean patted on some aftershave.  
“Danielle’s having a party tonight.”  
“Danielle? Isn’t she the one you don’t like?”  
“I don’t particularly like her, that doesn’t have any effect on how fun her parties are.” Dean brushed past his brother out of the bathroom and to his bedroom down the hall. He knew Sam was following him, but kept going and started to tug on his combat boots and green flannel coat.  
“Dean, you know you aren’t supposed to go out on nights when Dad and Grandpa are hunting, besides…I have a bad feeling about this.”  
“Feeling? Sammy, you know I don’t like feelings. They make you weak.”  
“Whatever, jerk, just be safe, ok?”  
Dean raised his eyebrows at his little brother. “It’s a party, not a den of vampires, dude. Don’t you have, like, hours of homework to be doing or something?”  
Sam looked like he was about to say something, but just sighed, ran his hand through his brown hair, and walked back towards his room, his footsteps sounding like he was dragging his feet on the carpet.  
“I promise I won’t be back too late,” Dean called when he heard Sam’s door close. He paused, watching at the top of the maple in their yard rustle in the breeze. He looked down from his two story height and saw the fraying rope swing attached to the maple swinging eerily by the same wind, looking like it was being swung by an invisible occupant. Spooky, he thought sarcastically. Then, Dean snatched his keys off of his dresser and headed downstairs and out the door to his Impala.


End file.
